


The House of Baratheon

by nicotineoverdose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, GoT universe, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotineoverdose/pseuds/nicotineoverdose
Summary: Harry Potter is raped and left to die by those who tormented him in his old life, Death steps in and interferes with his fate. She sends him to Westeros to be reborn as Cersei and Robert Baratheon's heir and true born son. This is how I imagine things would've changed, if Harry was born a Baratheon with all memories of his previous life. Including the magic.





	1. to meet a girl called death

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on this fic.  
> I will only say this once, I don't own the works and relations of the GoT and HP franchises.

He lay there for quite a while, long after they'd left. It was cold. Painfully cold. He recalled from somewhere in the back of his mind that it was winter, so that must be why it was so dreadfully freezing.

Even with the negative temperatures, he couldn't muster enough conscience or emotion to care. The most movement he'd done since they'd left was to curl himself in a ball with the torn-up uniform he was in, barely doing the job they're supposed to do in both covering and warmth.

The bottom of the cloak had been blown off by the breeze, leaving the bottom half of his body victim to the harsh temperatures. He was so tired. So done. So dirty.

"How about it, Potter? Let's hang out as mates for once." Ronald Weasley drawled.

"It's not like you have anyone to go outside with, as all your housemates are gone for the winter hols "He added. "But then again, it's not like you'd go with them anyhow, with your loner status and all."

It was a group of three boys whom were approaching him.

Harry knew to be distrustful of them, as the trio were known to have a sense of nationalism towards their own house. Not to mention the four years of bullying and they've put him through. However to the Gryffindors, no matter what trouble they got into, the teachers always seemed to turn a blind eye. No matter what horrific things they did.

_"C'mon Potter, you're the boy who lived. You're supposed to live and take risks." The ginger said with a smirk._

That's the Gryffindor way of life. To be brave, foolish and act before you think.

Harry was sorted into Slytherin the moment McGonagall called out his name.

The sorting hat never talked to him, never considered his own opinion. It just yelled out Slytherin- despite his already brewing hatred for the house.

The boy he met on the train and shared snacks with, after they found his toad- Neville Longbottom- had been sorted into Hufflepuff.

He had his own friends in his own house now, and was extremely popular with his year so, he tried to talk to Harry whenever he could. He was also Harry's partner in Herbology, and has been for the past four years they've been at school together. Despite his other classmates begging for his genius to pair up with them in the class he excelled at, he stuck with Harry.

He couldn't do much about the Gryffindors, but he could sway the Hufflepuffs.

_"So what is it, Potter? Are you going to go with us quietly or have us torment you for the remainder of the winter holiday?" Dean Thomas jeered with a snicker._

The trio hated him. For what reason, he didn't know. They snuck pins into his bag, ripped up and drew over his books, stuck gum in his hair and spread rumours about him all around.

_"Did you hear that Potter killed his own cousin when he was 9?"_

_"I heard he always gets in trouble for stealing things."_

_"Wasn't he the one who had a pet snake that almost killed the entire school?"_

_"I thought he was the one who joined the dark lord, despite the fact that it was everything his parents were against."_

He hated them for spreading rumours they knew weren't true. He hated the headmaster for not helping him when he asked- begged for a resorting. He hated his head of house for hating him for no apparent reason. He hated his parents for dying and leaving him alone with the Dursleys who despised him. But most of all, he hated Harry Potter. For not having the courage to stand up, to protect and forgive himself. For not being the idol everyone wished for him to be.

_"Alright." Harry agreed._

They went outside. The winter air was chilly, but he was wearing enough to keep him warm. As they walked down from the castle, they neared the forbidden forest, to the right was Hagrid's hut, and they kept walking further from the school. As soon as they got out of sight of the hut, Weasley snapped.

_"Grab him."_

_Thomas and Finnigan, who were behind him, suddenly grabbed hold of his arms before he_ _could react._

_Weasley smirked, "You should know by now not to trust us, Potter. Though I suppose you've learned that the best way to get through all this is to just do as we say and not to complain."_

_Pulling his wand out, he cast, "Terebro!*"_

With the punching spell coming into contact with his abdomen, he doubled over as much as he could in the restraints he was caught in.

" _Potter, oh Potter, did you know that my sister," he spat out, "actually had a crush on you in her first year?"_

_"You were only on the edge of evil back then, and nobody apart from us three, really understood how messed up you were. How you took enjoyment in pain and death."_

_"Of course, she and the whole school realised how messed up you were, when you nearly killed her. Dumbledore couldn't find any evidence, but I think it was pretty obvious when you showed up with my sister unconscious in your arms, covered in blood."_

Harry wanted to protest, he wanted to tell him that he saved her, she just couldn't remember it. Tom Riddle had possessed her and he had to get rid of the horcrux. He wanted to tell him about the way things actually were- but he wouldn't have listened nor cared. He simply enjoyed tormenting Harry, and would've taken any excuse to do so.

He stepped closer and traced his wand along Harry's jawline.

_"Such a pity really. The way you turned out."_

_He stepped back and turned his back on him, making a grand gesture with his hands, "If you'd been sorted into Gryffindor, I would've manipulated you so bad, that I'd have been your best and only friend. You couldn't have lived without me."_

_"However," He whispered, turning back to face him with a sneer on his face, "I think I rather enjoy how it all turned out in the end."_

_"Weasley, we haven't got long till curfew." Finnigan interjected, "We should get started."_

_"Fair point, Shea." He said, grinning. "Desino Motus!**" He called out, pointing his wand at Harry._

He knew he was going to die.

He'd been out here for far too long in the cold.

The darkness had long since begun filling up his vision. He just hoped that whatever came next would be better than this miserable life he carried out.

And with the final glance up at the Orion constellation and the seven sisters shining above him, he faded into his sleep.

* * *

 Harry thought to himself that it was too bright for him to be dead.

Even with his eyes closed, the light that shined through his eyelids blinded him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes; to find himself standing.

He blinked, trying to adjust his vision. Now that was definitely weird.

He was standing on what looked to be a dock. There was the sea- that wasn't moving- in front of him, and a port behind him to which the dock was connected to, far off in the distance. However, the strange thing was how everything was white.

He wondered if this was the afterlife, and if he was going to be made to sit by the sea for all eternity.

But then he spotted a little girl sitting on a bench not far off, further towards shore. Both of which- the girl and the bench- he could've sworn weren't there before.

He started to walk towards her, but every step he took seemed to lead him farther away from her.

Confused, he turned to look out to sea again, only to find that he hadn't moved a step away from the edge of the port.

Turning his head around, intending to call out to the girl, he found that she was suddenly just a few steps in front of him.

Jumping back in shock, his foot slipped over the edge slightly, and he tumbled backwards. Before he could fall in, the girl grabbed his arm, and pulled him forwards, steadying him.

"For the love of-" he started before stopping himself. He wasn't going to curse in front of the girl.

Composing himself, and willing his heart rate to slow down, he rubbed his eyes to try to see her face better. Try as he might, he couldn't see what she looked like. She had a face, yes, with eyes and a nose and a mouth, human-looking. However, he couldn't describe her. The most he could go with was she didn't look older than 10.

But before he could start speaking to ask her anything, she cut in with a flat voice.

"Hello, Harry Potter. I am Death's personification."

He blinked once before nodding slowly. Alright fair enough though, he pretty much guessed that he'd be dead at this point, to come to this dimension-defying place.

"Why don't we take a seat? She questioned, voice barely changing from her previous tone. She was gesturing at the bench that suddenly reappeared to the side.

With a slight nod and a breath of laughter at her tricks, he sat down, as did she shortly after.

"Is this the afterlife?" He questioned, gesturing around him.

With the same tone,she replied, "No, Harry Potter. This is the crossroad. It's the turning point between the living and the dead. Not many people face me here, as they are usually one of three; either they're living, dead, or they've become a spirit in the mortal world. For the most part, the living stay living till they die. The dead stay dead, and the spirits are doomed to forever remain in the mortal realm after the choosing to remain."

"Why am I at the crossroads then?" He questioned her, eyebrow raising.

"You get a choice, Harry Potter. Tell me, do you remember how you died?" She asked, face more blank than it was before as she avoided his gaze.

"No, not really. Though, I'm not sure I want to." He replied honestly. "I know my life before this crossroad was bad. But in all honesty- I can't remember much else."

With a heavy breath and a slight tremor to her voice, she replied, "I'm afraid you have to remember. In order for you to move forward, you have to remember the past." With that, she grabbed his hand despite his protests and he was pulled into the memory.

* * *

_"Weasley, we haven't got long till curfew." Finnigan interjected, "We should get started."_

_"Fair point, Shea." He said, grinning. "Desino Motus**!" He called out, pointing his wand at Harry._

_Harry's body fell limp against the floor. It was a dark curse; he knew that much._

_He couldn't move, but he certainly could feel. He felt his cloak and uniform being ripped off, he felt the chill enter his skin and seep into his bones._

_He couldn't move, but he could see. He could see their casting of a warming charm around themselves, their removal of their own robes- from the bottom half at least._

_He felt their violation. The pain that not only came from his lower half; but from the tearing away at his consciousness and what was left of his sanity._

_He felt his tears run down his face- becoming colder as they slid from his eyes down to his cheeks and snow._

_Gradually, however, he stopped feeling. They didn't stop though. They continued well into the night, past curfew._

_He thanked the bitter cold for making his body numb, for blocking out the senseless beings that were- dare he say it, raping him._

_When they stopped, they jeered at his expression, his lack of dignity and the blood-soaked ground beneath him._

_Without a care for the boy they left behind, broken, they left him to die._

* * *

 

"Sorry." Death said with the same monotone. "You had to remember in order to choose which path to take."

Harry snatched his hand away from Death's touch and brought his hand to his hair, running his fingers through it. He also acknowledged the tears that were both wet and dry that stained his cheeks.

"I just- need a moment." Harry said, breathing heavily and voice trembling.

"Sure. We have all the time in the world." The small girl said with a relatively gentle voice for an entity who was supposed to be emotionless and compassionless.

Without any concept of time, the two of them just sat there, staring at the white, unmoving sea while Harry processed the memories he received from this life.

"What are my choices again?" Harry asked, after what seemed like an eternity to him.

"You have many, Harry Potter. At a point in your previous life, you've become my master, and I am forever at your service. You are the second person to have become my master, however the first had lost that position after-" She hesitated for a second before continuing, "after he'd chosen to finally, completely die."

"I've lived before?" He asked, eyes filled with wonder. "What was it like?"

With an expression he would've deemed as a smile on Death's face, she asked, "Would you like me to show you?"

With Harry's affirmative nod, she grabbed his hand once more.

* * *

 

***Terebro: punching spell***

***Desino Motus: movement ceasing spell**


	2. the butterfly effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go

After going through all the memories of his previous life, he wasn't quite sure what he should feel.

While he felt sad about the life he'd left behind the first time round, he was happy that he didn't get trapped as a puppet again. While Harry was definitely angry about the way things turned out in this life, he was happy that he'd been accepted somewhat in the previous one.

The bias people had for Slytherins was painfully obvious. It wasn't that hard to believe that people would turn bad even if they're good people at heart should they stay in that house. Though Slytherins tended to hold a united front, others who were Slytherin who didn't fit into the quota were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

A part of Harry's favourite memories of his first life were his children. Three beautiful children whom he loved dearly.

Albus Potter was sorted into Slytherin, and though the bias towards him was less than usual, as he was the son of the saviour of the wizarding world, he wasn't fully accepted either.

He had one good friend that stuck by him, Scorpius Malfoy. Harry vaguely remembered Draco Malfoy in his second life, and he was pretty much the same arrogant stuck up boy in both lives. However, his son was the sweetest thing. And he nearly stopped them from ending up together.

At that point in that life, he nearly failed him, but he sorted things out in the end. James and Lily Potter, named after his parents were both Gryffindors, and all three, at Harry's deathbed, were proud to call him father.

The only thing he regret in his second life was not reaching out to Hermione. She'd been killed by the troll that rampaged through the dungeon and girl's bathroom in his first year.

He'd seen how special and important she was to him in his original life, how she was always there when he needed her. If he'd befriended her at first on the train when she was looking for people to teach her spells, would she have still been alive?

However, it's too late to change anything.

"Is it possible for me to see my children or friends before I leave for the new life?" Harry asked, a hopeful look upon his face.

"Unfortunately, no. Your timeline has already long since been severed from their's."

Dejected, he answered, "Yea, I understand." He tilted his head to look at her on the bench, "May I ask you a favour?"

"If it's in my power, it's my job to do so."

"Can you choose the next world for me to go to? I don't want to relive my life as Harry Potter, and there's no use dwelling over the past."

"Yes, that I can do."

"Is it also possible for me to keep all my memories and abilities?"

Once again hesitant, she replied "Yes. At the end of your first life you specifically wished for the memories of that life to be forgotten as you moved on."

"Very well. I'm ready." Harry said, standing up and walking to the edge of the port. He remembered vaguely that the last time he was reborn, she pushed him into the water.

"Alright, now face me, Harry Potter," She instructed, "and make sure to specify that you wish to be sent to an entirely new world in a different realm with all the memories and powers you currently possess."

"Thank you, Death." He said, with a nervous smile on his face.

"I wish to be sent to an entirely new world in a different realm with possession of all my current memories and powers." he repeated.

With that, the last thing he saw in that world was the white of the sea spreading over him and bringing him under.

* * *

In another universe, when he woke up, he was a wailing baby by the name of Harold Baratheon, Heir to the Throne.

* * *

When Severus Snape heard the news, he stormed out of the headmasters office with shaking hands and his mind in a blur. He'd failed her. He failed Lily in helping her protect her son. He should've stepped in and done something. Even though he looked like his father- even though he knew that Harry Potter was nothing like James- he still let the horrendous actions towards the boy continue. He let another child go through what he went through at school, right under his nose. He wished, oh how he wished for a second chance-

But it was too late.

The corpse of Harry Potter was found by Hagrid. The groundskeeper rarely sees the boy, having been told by Dumbledore to give him space, as he might not be the saviour everyone wished him to be; and could be a potential threat. The half-giant sat by the bloodied body of the dead boy for a good half an hour. Repeating a mantra to Lily and James, hoping they'd forgive him for not protecting their boy, for not being there to guide him through his hardships.

Severus' shoulders trembled as he finally reached his office. He hadn't felt this cold since Lily died. Collapsing at his desk, he tried to keep his emotions in check. With trembling hands, he pulled out the photo album that he kept locked in the bottom drawer of his desk.

In the album were photos of him and Lily throughout their years at school- up to fifth year at least. After that time, it was only just photos of her that he took from a distance. He knew it was wrong to do so. However with the circumstances they were living in, with the dark Lord and all, he didn't figure he'd have much time left to live.

At that time, he's just a boy caught up in war.

How he wished he could go back and apologize to the girl whom he loved. However, after she died he swore to myself that he would protect her son. After failing her that many times, you'd figure that he would succeed in protecting her through Harry, but look how much he fucked that up.

He had taken Harry's memories, and he was afraid of what he was going to see. The swirling silver moved violently in the vial, as if it was wishing desperately to escape.

He didn't want to sympathize with the Potter boy, but he had to do it. If not for the boy that he failed at protecting, then he could at least do it for Lily.

But first, he seriously needed a drink.

* * *

 Hagrid was patrolling the Hogwarts grounds early in the morning when he saw the broken body of the boy who laid there, body blue in the snow. He shakily breathed in a breath of air before running as fast as he could to the child.

Of course, he arrived far too late. The boy was long since dead.

He couldn't bring yourself to do anymore then collapse on top of the cold corpse, letting out loud, mournful cries. The child he had watched from afar, but hadn't gotten close to due to an old fool's intervention was lying motionless in the snow.

The boys green eyes were staring towards the east, Hagrid absentmindedly noted that he was most likely staring at the sunrise as he died. If he wasn't, all he saw before his death were the dimming lights of the stars above. Which meant he wasn't given any hope that came with the impending sunrise. Hagrid would much rather think that Harry had seen the sun before he passed.

So that's how he convinced himself that what Harry's last vision was before he died wasn't all that bleak.

* * *

 When Dumbledore heard the news, to say he was stressed was an understatement. They were only two boys that fit the prophecy. And though he thought Neville was the better candidate, he couldn't help but feel agitated due to the fact that he lost a spare.

The Longbottom boy was filled with potential. He had the perfect lack of self preservation to fit the hero stereotype that the wizarding world needed.

Not to mention the fact that nobody would miss him too much, should his grandmother pass.

At first, when he first heard of the prophecy and it's candidates, he'd hoped it would've been Harry. The boy, by what he could tell when he was with his parents, was perfect hero material. But then when he arrived at the school and was sorted into the House with complete opposite ideals of what he needed for a scapegoat, he decided to use Neville instead.

It wouldn't have mattered much in the end anyhow, all they needed was someone to save them. Someone to look good on the front cover. He didn't care much about the rest, he would just have to make do with the final candidate.

He was also worried about how the news of the death of a boy who survived the killing curse would affect the population. Perhaps you should keep it under wraps, and just say it was an animal that had killed him when he was out. He knew the right healers to talk to you in order to forge the documents. All he needed was the money, and he could get that from the Potter vaults.

Seeing as Harry didn't have any remaining magical kin, his money would go to his acting magical guardian. Which in this case, was Dumbledore.

With all the added interest rates over the past decade and a half, as well as stock holdings and Wizengot seats, within the next 24 hours, Dumbledore would be the richest and most influential man in Great Britain.

Should everything go to plan, that is.

* * *

 With Potter's memories in a vial clenched tightly in his hand, The potions professor tipped over the vial into the pensive. As the silver quickly melded into black, it filled up the bowl and before he could change his mind, he dunked his head in.

_"Boy, what happened to the toast?!" A feminine voice screeched out towards a figure that couldn't be any more than five years old._

_"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, the eggs were starting to burn and-"_

The lady Severus had known from his childhood slapped the boy across his face before grabbing his arm.

_"I don't want to hear any excuses! Do you know what happens to toast when it stays in the toaster too long?!" She screeched, before jerking his arm to the stove and holding it over the fire._

_"This is what happens! It burns, and wastes the money that we earned in order to feed our family with good food! Food that worthless scum like you do not deserve." Despite the evident pain on his face, the boy did not scream and endured the squawking of the person who was only his aunt by blood._

_Seemingly pleased at the lack of reaction from the boy, she hauled him over to the sink and rinsed his hand under the water for a few seconds, before instructing him to go to his cupboard._

_"Three days, boy! No food." She called out after him._

As the memory shifted into another one, he was faced with the boy looking exactly the same, but perhaps a year or two older sitting in his cupboard in the middle of the night.

_Harry had a flashlight with him. It was dim sure, but it was something. He could pretend pretty well._

_"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Harry, happy birthday to me." He sang out in a small voice before blowing out the eight candles on a cake drawn in the dust of his cupboard wall._

Severus always knew the boy was small for his age, but to this extent to where he looked like a six year old when he was eight? How could anyone not have noticed the obvious neglect Harry had endured?

With the blowing of the dust, the scene changed once again.

* * *

 With a smug look hidden behind the twinkle in his eye, he entered the ministry with all the intention to inherit the Potter influence and house. Dumbledore stepped into one of the many elevators that zoomed around the place, and before he knew it, he was dead.

His death wasn't intentional, mind you. It was merely a escaped pet from Newt Scamander's suitcase that had flown up Dumbledore's nose half an hour ago when they passed each other in the floo terminals. After Dumbledore took it for dust and sneezed the creature out before going on his way, and Newt stuffing the pet back in the suitcase right after, neither of the men thought much more of it. But the damage has already been done, and Albus Dumbledore had been killed before he could do anything more to further ruin people's lives.

When they couldn't find a reason as to why the old man had died, they simply chalked it up to natural causes and let the papers and public think whatever they wanted to think. The reason why they couldn't find anything was due to the both the fact that the wizarding physical examinations at a microscopic level was less than competent, and the fact that the creature that had escaped merely suggested the cells in one's body to stop replicating, and instead die. It was very persuasive. On a microscopic level, that is.

Instead, an internal private care holder was assigned to both the Dumbledore's inheritance case as well as the Potter's. All of the previously sealed wills and transactions were now out in the open, and when Madam Gloria Rhys read the Potter's last will and testament, she ran to the minister and showed it to him. With him paling to a shade that was blanker than a sheet, he floo-called the prison where a wrongfully convicted inmate was being kept.


	3. the lives we lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the kudos and comments

The next memory that Severus saw when Harry got his Hogwarts letter. He was standing in front of the letter flap with letter in hand, surprised that anyone would write to him; be it junk mail or not.

Shrugging and stuffing the letter down the front of his pants, he brought the rest of the mail into the kitchen and left them on the table. He knew very well, that if he had shown the Dursley's the letter, he'd never have seen it again.

Severus followed the boy back to the cupboard that he called his room, and noted that he'd placed the letter under the mattress.

Hearing Aunt Petunia's shrill cry, he quickly headed back to the kitchen to continue with the rest of the day's chores that was listed out for him.

The day passed by in a blur for Severus, everything and everyone was moving twice- if not three or four times- as fast.

In the quiet of the night, Harry grabbed the battered flashlight in his hand before reading the front of the envelope. That's weird, how would they know that he lived under the stairs? With growing doubt, he careful he opened the envelope and started to read.

The look of disbelief on the young boy's face was hardly encouraging. His emotions reading the letter wasn't that of a child who believed in magic.

Severus' heart ached for the young child. Even with his abusive father towering over him at a young age, he still felt the elation and excitement one should feel upon recovering their Hogwarts letter.

_"What is this?" Harry muttered with a scowl. "Some form of sick joke?!"_

_"Yes, happy birthday dear, magical, Harry Potter." He said to himself mockingly._

_"If there was such a thing as magic, someone surely would've save me from this hell already." Sighing and tearing up the letter, he flopped back down on the mattress._

_"There is no such thing as magic, I am simply a freak." Harry muttered, stuffing the ripped pieces of paper in a corner to clean up later._

As the scene changed, Severus found him at a shabby shack with the sound of thunder and rolling waves crashing outside.

Even though Severus was in a memory, he could feel the chill of the sea and the the despair sink into him. He saw Harry laying on the ground of the shack beside the cold fireplace, and wondered, once again, how he could've gone through this without anyone noticing the shit he lived through.

He saw his cousin lying on the couch with a blanket draped over him as well as the cake drawn on the ground with eleven candles.

As the dust cake was blown away, a heavy fist came knocking at the door.

On fast forward, he saw Hagrid and his confrontation with the family. When he sat down on the couch and lit the fireplace, time slowed back down again, and his voice boomed out as loud as the thunder outside,

_"Yer a wizard, Harry."_

_That was when Harry lost it. He started to feel the heaviness on his chest that stopped him from breathing- what he usually got when he faced an attack. The world around him darkened and everything was tuned out, like static on a radio. His heart was pounding at 80 miles an hour and he was shaking, shaking oh so much. His hands started to go numb as he backed into a corner of the shack, and he curled up into a ball._

_It wasn't anything new, Harry faced this every time he had a panic attack. Though admittedly, he had never had one in front of the Dursley's, as he'd found ways to escape- to not let them have more reasons for calling him a freak._

Severus felt the magic in the air, radiating from Harry. The emotions and the pain that he was enduring was painfully obvious to see.

However, Hagrid isn't the most observant of all half-men.

_"Harry?" He asked in a booming voice, "It's okay, 'Arry, just calm down." His loud voice wasn't helping at all. "Why are ya bein' like this? All panicky and codswallop?" He said with an irritated tone._

_"'Arry, stop it. Yer not s'posed to act like this!"_

He really shouldn't have done that. Any of that.

With a burst of magic from Harry from his panic attack, the scene changed and he suddenly was in his cupboard once again.

Severus vaguely recalled the headmaster sending McGonagall over to pick Harry up from his cupboard a after Harry apparated with his accidental magic.

He kept himself locked in, even when the Dursleys came back- all the way until the Gryffindor head came and assured him of his situation. She always had a knack for knowing what to say when comforting people. Despite the woman's strict nature, she did have motherly instincts to those who she deemed as needing help. Most of the kids she reached out to were those in her house, but she did make a few exceptions. Sad that she couldn't help Harry during his years at Hogwarts, due to the headmasters unnecessary and senseless advice to avoid the boy.

Such a pity.

Then, they were suddenly in Harry's first potion class. Severus saw himself, looking pretty much the same– but with less worry lines.

He saw the cruel look he gave the young boy, and wondered how he could've done that to a child he knew was going through hell.

The younger version of himself bombarded the even younger boy with academic questions that no child his age– without being a potions prodigy- would know. The rest of the memories passed by in a blur, as he silently cried while standing off to the side, not being able to do anything to help, for they were but memories.

He saw Harry face all the tasks towards the stone alone, and despite being heavily injured- and quite likely developing a concussion, went on to face the unknown. He saw the boy stab the basilisk through the roof of its mouth, knowing full well that The venom in the basilisk fang could, and would very well kill him. He saw Harry at the mercy of a moonlit werewolf who had forgotten his wolfsbane potion. The only reason he survived was due to his own accidental magic bursting out and unintentionally killing the man whom he looked up to.

Then came the most recent year. Harry's name had been pulled out of the cup. If everyone wasn't already against the boy with the lightning scar, at this point, the remaining few with any sympathy left to his cause abandon him altogether.

He stayed out of the dragons way, didn't bother to put up a fight. That was weak. Why bother to even cheat your way in if you're not going to put on a show?

He had snuck his way into glory, they all thought. He had also snuck his way out of death's grip.

That, they decided– simply wasn't fair.

* * *

The Minister of Magic read the Potter will with dread. The compensation that would be needed to repay the heir to house Black would be tremendous. Not to mention the general public's possible outrage at the Ministry's incompetency.

They would be wondering if any of the other inmates were wrongly convicted, this was going to be an expensive and drawn out complication.

He couldn't pay anyone off, he suddenly realized in a jolt. The news has already began spread; as the political rumor mill has been going on top speed for the last 24 hours. Chaos, he thought. Pure uncultivated chaos.

What was he going to do?

The once-upon-a-time most wanted criminal was going to become more powerful than even perhaps the Minister himself.

And Sirus Black was, without a doubt, going to be murderous to those who dared lay your finger up on his godson,as well as those who didn't step in and help.

The boy-who-lived was dead, but his godfather is now out for vengeance.

* * *

Ronald Weasley honestly couldn't believe that Harry Potter had died. It didn't seem possible, he argued against himself, he had always survived the numerous obstacles he had faced. A voice of conscience rang inside his head, of course he died you idiot. Anyone would, should they have went through what you put the poor boy through. The voice sounded naggingly like his mother; though he knew her reaction to what he had done would be far more severe.

He was sitting in the headmasters office. McGonagall temporarily filling in as head until the board picked a new headmaster.

The headmistress had sent an owl to the Weasley's residence, fully explaining the situation that they would face before they came in.

What Molly Weasley was like, who is the complete opposite of what the ginger haired boy was expecting. She wasn't angry, she was distraught. How could her boy, that she had raised to be good, do something so vile to someone who had done nothing to him? How could a son that she bore turn out to be a rapist and a murderer?

She couldn't bear to look at him. She sat in the chair The headmistress gestured at, sat down and cried. She cried for the boy she never knew, and what her own child had done to him. She cried for his parents, for him not being able to grow up in a loving environment.

Despite that, she cried mostly for herself. She cried for not being able to forgive herself for bringing something so cruel into the world; and for her inability to do anything right.

His father was stoic. He stared at the boy he called his son with something far worse than disappointment; yet somewhat akin to a death glare.

He couldn't handle it, Ronald realized. So as soon as he was in reach of his distraught mothers wand as they were ready to leave, he grabbed it and uttered killing curse, pointing it towards his head.

He really should've been nicer to the Potter boy.

* * *

 

A five year old Harold- nicknamed Harry, Baratheon was the subject of adoration for all the ladies at court. With his tousled hair, bright green eyes and bashful grin, he was already a heartbreaker. He was born in the year 285 AC, a decade after Cersei nee. Lannister and Robert Baratheon had gotten married.

Though the boy was young, his personality stood out quite clearly- in quite an obvious pairing to that of the Baratheon and Lannister names. Though the boy was bold and brave, he was cunning in his ways and knew to think things through. He was intrigued in both the art of swords as well as the planning for a battlefield. Tywin, personally, couldn't have asked for a better apprentice.

As for the queen, she loved her son dearly. At first she had been conflicted with the fact that a man she held no feelings for was the father of a child that she had given life to. She had so desperately wished to end the babe upon seeing his sleeping form. When he woke up, however, the startling green eyes that were clearly a Lannister trait stared up at her. They were her eyes. Hers and Jamie's.

She fell in love with the shifting bundle in her arms and swore to keep him out of harm's way. The boy was a part of her, after all.

For the king and queen, in the early years of his marriage, Cersei thought that she genuinely loved him. He had been nicer to her back then, occasionally gifting her gifts and lavish dinners for her. Even so, at that same time, he also kept whoring around, and paid no more attention than he deemed necessary to the woman who he was wed to. At their bed once a month, he did his duty without a sound, not calling out for her or wanting anything more. He simply did his duty as a King should do to produce an heir, and expected her to do the same.

This logic however, she could understand, as she herself after a good decade of heartbreak towards his performance- would also rather spend as little time with him as possible. The ten years were ten long ones.

During those years before Harry's birth, Robert sired a total of three bastards. Mya Stone, Bella Rivers and Gendry Waters. Gendry was born mere three months prior to Harry.

The boy had the distinct Baratheon look, with the hair and facial structure. The small difference that brought the Lannister blood into his look were his eyes. Once holding no love for green eyes, Robert changed. Or tried to. He tried to visit the babe at least once a week in his nursery, and as Harry grew older, Robert found more happiness in spending time with the little tyke who was always so full of questions and easy laughter.

When Harry was born, Robert was by Cersei's side. When he laid eyes on him, he looked younger, almost losing the pains he'd felt during the war.

It reminded him of another child of his; his little Mya whom he'd sired in the Vale. He regretted not being able to keep contact with her. Yet knowing Cersei, if he did try to get in touch, she'd most likely murder her by some hidden plot or another. It was safer to leave her where she was.

Unbeknownst to Robert, Cersei did indeed have her own bastard. Or at least bastard in the making. Cersei continued her relationship with Jamie up to when she was pregnant with Harry. It wasn't that surprising that she preferred the company of a fit and charming knight over that of a drunk and fat king. But when Harry was born, she told her twin that she couldn't. Not anymore. If not for the sake of her son, then for the sake of her future children and their sanities.

Even so, the pair of them did lose control of their desires at time, and judging by Cersei's swollen stomach from the child she'd been carrying for nine months; she'd be facing the result of her adventures quite soon.

Her twin, understandably, wasn't fond of the lad. Jamie Lannister was rather envious of the babe, though he'd never admit it. He wished to be a child at his sister's side once more, enjoying their little "adventures". How he missed the old Cersei, she used to care so much for him. Now it just seems like he's been replaced by a miniature version of Robert. He was blinded by his resentment towards the boy who possessed the dark hair of the King, the latter of whom treated Cersei so dismissively.

* * *

"Uncle Tyrion!" The young boy called out, toddling after the figure who was only just taller than him from across the yard.

Seeing his nephew approaching, he let out a grin and let go of the whore he had on his arm and opened his arms out, inviting a hug from the younger boy.

The boy's maester hurried behind worriedly, having been told by the boy's mother to not let him out of his sight.

"My Prince, must I remind you, your mother said not to wander off by yourself!" The man- Pycell, was it?- said as he heaved behind the young boy who'd reached his uncle's embrace.

"It's alright, Pycell. He's safe with me." He assured the older man before turning his attention to the young lad. "If it isn't my favorite nephew, Harrison!"

With a giggle, Harry corrected, "It's Harold, Uncle Tyrion. And I'm your only nephew."

"Where have you been, Uncle?" Harry questioned. "I haven't seen you around for weeks. Mother wouldn't say anything, but father let it slip that you were off to visit Highgarden."

Ruffling the boy's hair, "Well you've heard correctly. I have been in Highgarden. Your grandfather wanted me to settle a score with Lady Olenna. Did you know that she has a granddaughter around your age? And a beauty at that."

Scrunching his nose up, Harry shook his face in disgust. "Girls are weird and too giggly."

The whore that had been watching the encounter snorted just then, and muttered, "You won't think that for long."

Smirking at the lady, Tyrion hushed her. Turning to Harry, "So, young lad. Hordenstall, was it?"

Putting on a frown that was obviously fake, he whimpered "It seems you have forgotten me already."

"Ah of course," The imp said, hitting his forehead with his palm. "I just remembered that you're my only nephew." With a wink he said, "I suppose I'll have to make it up to you!" With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a shiny gold piece that he'd summoned out of nowhere. "Catch!"

Thankfully, Harry had good reflexes and caught the gold dragon his Uncle had tossed at him. With a grin, he gave another hug and wave to the half-man and bounded off somewhere else, soon followed by the rattling chains and bones of the maester who took care of the lively boy.

He contorted his face into one of sympathy for the maester before taking the arm of the girl he'd brought along, and continued on their way.

* * *

Jamie heard the boy before he saw him. The man was standing guard outside the king's rooms before the young boy came bounding up. He heard his loud questions towards the maester and the old man's desperate attempts to keep in pace with the lad; both physically and mentally.

The Lannister really didn't want to deal with the excitable young twat this early on in the morning. Resting his shoulder against the wall, he heaved a sigh before turning to the direction of the two voices.

"Uncle Jamie!" The Baratheon boy cried out when he turned the corner, grinning at the man standing guard. "Prince Harold."

He greeted curtly.

Not noticing or perhaps ignoring the older man's obvious distaste held in his voice at both his existence and his presence, he went on. "Is my father in his rooms, Uncle Jay?" He questioned.

"It's Ser Jamie, Prince Harold. To your question, yes. But he has strict orders to not let anyone in until past noon." He needn't have bothered. The boy had already barged in without either his maester or the guard knowing once Jamie had said the king was home.

Thankfully, this was one of the rare mornings when Robert was fully dressed, without any of his whores by his side. It was blessedly early for men like Robert, who considered waking up before lunch a sin.

When the two men outside the door came in after Harry in an attempt to stop him, they found he was already jumping on the bed which the king was laying on.

"What in the name of the seven-" he cut himself off, after seeing Harry. With a chuckle, he groaned and flopped back in bed.

"Lannister!" He called out.

"Yes, your grace?"

"It seems you've failed to stop an intruder from murdering my slumber."

"Yes, your grace."

"With this recent development, I think you should have the day off. Enjoy yourself a bit." Pausing and thinking, he added, "Tell the rest of the guards they can take leave for the day as well."

"But sir," Jamie cut in.

"Wait actually, keep the ones on duty to patrol the common streets on today. They can have tomorrow off." Robert went for a lunge at the boy who was still jumping on the bed and tackled him in a bear hug.

"So apart from the basic, most essential guards, let the others rest." He said as he dismissed the two.

They were more or less standing shell shocked at the door.

"Did you not hear me?" Robert questioned and groaned as the boy managed to wriggle out of his grasp and hop of the bed. "Give the guards leave. By the gods, they deserve some rest."

Jumping off the bed himself, he tried to chase Harry throughout the room, though it was hard for him to do so due to his size and condition.

Snapping out of his daze and shaking his head, Jamie went on to follow the king's order, dragging Pycell out of the room while he was at it. Harold Baratheon seemed to have the special ability to make people make choices that weren't in their own personal favor.

That boy was dangerous.

* * *

 

That boy was gorgeous.

As the young boy was dozing off at the dinner table, all of the handmaidens and ladies present had their eyes glued on him.

He had the slighted amount of drool running down the edge of his mouth, his eyelids and long eyelashes were just shuttering over his eyes and his hair was sticking out all over the place after numerous attempts of tired hands trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

Should his mother or septa be here, they'd fix him up in a second and hurry him along to bed.

Though at this moment, his mother was giving birth, and due to the birth being a particularity hard one, his own septa had went off to help.

Right now, it was a rather quiet dinner apart from the clatter of forks and quiet chitchat.

The only distant relative of his sitting at the table currently was his imp uncle, and he had passed out on the table after having too much to drink.

Whenever the boy's head sunk lower, they'd hold their breath. When he'd jerk its up with another bleary eyed look and tilting head, they'd sigh. This went on for a good half hour until his septa came down and brought him up to bed after the babe had been born.

By what Harry heard of the whispers around him as his septa carried him off to his bed was that his sibling's name was Joffrey. Joffrey Baratheon, blonde of hair.

A voice in the back of his mind vaguely noted that that wasn't how genetics worked.

* * *

Harry's memories and knowledge he had gained in his past lives started coming back to him around the time Joffrey was born. He knew that the things he thought and the logic that went on in his mind was different from before, with his subconsciousness bringing in his way of thinking in the past. He couldn't quite place the reason for why he thought like he did; but things simply made sense to him on a deeper level.

Starting from Joffrey's birth, he started to dedicate more time with the maesters in an attempt to gain more knowledge of the world around him.

His mother thought it was Harry's childish way of trying to help become a better brother for Joffrey, and Robert thought it was simply a phase.

Speaking of Joffrey, oh by the hells, Cersei knew very well that the blonde boy wasn't Robert's son.

He was the result of her drunken and angry late nights with her twin. She really had to keep him away from her lest something like this should happen again.

_And yet_ , she had thought, her heart soft with love,  _our baby is simply beautiful._

"Mother?" A voice called from the doorway.

With a look towards the young boy, she let out a smile that nobody apart from her children had ever had the honor to receive. She dismissed the guard behind him and her handmaidens that stood waiting in the room. With a gesturing hand from his mother beckoning him, he slipped through the door and bounced over to the sleeping babe in his mother's arms.

As the others left the queen's chambers, "Hush now, Harry. We mustn't wake your brother." She gently reminded him before placing a kiss on his fine, silky hair.

"When will he be able to play with me, mother?" He asked in a quiet manner, ghosting his hands over the gold locks that lay against Joff's head.

With a quiet laugh, she replied, "I fear it's going to be quite a while until he can run around. He's but two moons old."

"I heard it takes around ten to fifteen moons till a baby can start walking properly." Harry noted absentmindedly. "And they usually start talking properly by their second name day."

With a laugh, she told Harry, "You're a queer lad, knowing all this information." At Harry's affronted look at being called queer, she added, "But I am glad that I have such a knowledgeable young son who is so willing to help be a brother to Joffrey."

Grinning the bashful grin for which he was so popular for at court, he hid his face in his seated mother's neck-

Which woke the sleeping form.

The babe started whimpering and grasping out for something. Before Harry could think twice, he reached out towards Joffrey.

The babe's hand met with Harry's and the babe held on to the older boy's index finger like it was a lifeline.

_He's so small,_  Harry thought wondrously. His hands were a third of that of Harry's own; and Harry's was already small enough. It was amazing how something could be so delicate.

"He likes you." Cersei told the Harry after the babe had went back into his slumber. It was really a relief to see that the siblings had gotten along. At this age, at least.

"I like him too." Harry softly spoke with a smile.

* * *

"C'mere Joff!" Harry called out while seated, gesturing to the boy who was wobbling on his feet a few steps away.

The handmaiden from the Reach was sitting as well, holding onto Joffery's torso to keep him steady.

With Harry's nod towards the handmaiden, she let go of Joff and the boy started to put a foot in front of the other hesitantly.

With a whimper and cry, he sat back down, refusing to try to walk without guidance.

Harry sighed and dragged himself over to where the boy was making a fuss.

He waved off the handmaiden before asking, "Why'd you stop, Joff? You were doing well." Harry stated, looking at the boy who'd just reached his first name day.

Joffrey lashed out in anger at the older boy's arm that Harry was leaning on in order to get physically closer to the younger boy.

"Hey. That's not nice." Harry chided. "Would you like it if someone hit you?" Harry demonstrated with a slight tap on Joffrey's palm.

Making the mess even bigger, Joffrey started to cry.

"No fair, Joffrey. That didn't even hurt you."

Thankfully, their mother had gone away for a week to visit Casterly Rock and pay respects to her mother.

Due to Joffery's tendency to get sick often, the king and queen didn't want to risk the trip.

However, as Harry's grandfather was a stickler for traditions; especially that involving his dead wife, he'd dragged Cersei along with him. Harry thought that it'd be a nice surprise for them to teach Joffery to walk by himself and have him greet mother like that when she came back.

"Hey now listen, you mustn't hurt others. Hurting others is what bad people do. You don't want to be a bad person, do you?" Harry said that more as a fact than a question.

Cries became softer, and Joffrey was left staring at the ground in shame. He didn't like it when he was hurt, so he supposed that it made sense not to hurt others. Though the real reason why he was disappointed in himself is because he tried to hurt Harry, and didn't listen to him. He liked his brother. His brother was always kind to him.

"Let's try again, shall we?" Joff nodded slightly and he reached out for the handmaiden. As she brought him to a standing position, he pushed the support he gave her away and took a step by himself.

* * *

Robert couldn't be any prouder of his son. Harry was trying to help teach his brother to speak proper words. Joffery was but 13 months of age, and though he could start babbling long before that, none of it made sense.

They were working on getting the boy to say "mama" right now. Just a few weeks ago, Cersei had come back from her trip to Casterly Rock, and she'd nearly cried when she went up to her room and saw Joffery running towards her with uneven steps.

Harry always found some way to get Joffery to play along, whether it'd be by bribing with food, or a lecture where he sat his brother down.

It was funny he thought. To have a boy who was barely six to talk about serious matters to a boy just a year out of his mother's womb.

As a child, he had dismissed his younger brother in favor of his own friends his age and parental affection. It seemed that what Harry was doing now for Joffery was what Robert he'd done for Stannis.

Stannis had followed Robert around as a toddler, always pestering him with questions and advice; not understanding that he wasn't wanted.

It wasn't until Robert had pushed him into the mud and called him annoying that Stannis realized that the person he looked up to held no feelings for him. Not only did he realise this, but the obvious preferential treatment their parents held for his elder brother.

When his youngest brother came around, Renly was nothing like the way Stannis was in admiration of his older sibling. He was independent in his own right and tended to be more of a logical thinker and a leader rather than someone who followed people around.

Though Renly tried to talk to Stannis and Robert more; about feelings and such, Robert wasn't someone who'd talk it out and Stannis was too hurt by his other sibling's rejection.

Due to his lack of attachment to both his siblings, the only man Robert considered a brother was Eddard Stark. And that man was far from him in the north with his own wife and children.

Though he had Jon Arryn by his side, the man was growing old, and more of a father to him than someone as close as a brother should be.

But it didn't matter. He had his family to care for now. He mustn't dwell on the things he could've done or the things that are too risky.

He looked at his heir, a small boy who had changed him so much and smiled. Maybe I'll give up whores and drink while I'm at it, he jokingly thought.

Robert had indeed improved himself since Harry's birth. He became a better father to his children, and realized the extent to which money could be wasted.

When he first became king, he was astounded at the amount of gold Aegon Targaryen had in his coffers and spent tons on whim without a second thought.

He had only been in ruling for three years, and he'd already spent a little under half of what Aegon had stocked up for the entirety of his ruling.

Even Robert himself, in his drunkest state, would admit that the amount he's spent is a bit drastic.

He lessened the amount of money spent himself, and looked for instead a way that could perhaps balance out the money he's spent.

He added taxes on those who could afford having heavier ones, made certain laws that helped in filling the coffers and started investing in the business ventures of starting up entrepreneurs with advice from Littlefinger and Varys.

He gave them each 10% of what the earnings from the 40% of the profit earned yearly through the investments.

After a two years, he was able to make a little income through the investments rather than just losing money and paying off debts. He could enjoy himself with money he'd earned for the crown.

Two years later, Harry was eight, and Joffery was three. It was well around time for Harry to, perhaps, become a ward.


End file.
